


Second Chances

by doctor__idiot



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2017 [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pining, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: Sam hates frat parties.





	Second Chances

Sam hates frat parties. He can’t for the life of him say why he agreed to go.

He sidesteps Jeremy who wobbles back over to their little group with refills – some greenish concoction Sam is half-sure is some sort of poison – and nearly spills them all over Sam’s sneakers.

There are already stains of something that smells decidedly vile darkening the hem of his shirt because a girl bumped into him earlier. In other circumstances, she might have been cute but she was too drunk and Sam too annoyed for it to be the right time.

He spins aimlessly around on his bar stool, bored, and fed up with the noise that surrounds him. Out of the corner of his eyes he spots a familiar flash of leather and he heaves an internal sigh.

It has been months since he left his family for a regular life – or as regular of a life as a Winchester is going to get – and a possible career. Still, he can’t seem to shake the jumpiness or the nightmares.

Actually, they’ve increased since he packed his bag and let his terse brother drive his to the bus station that meant a new beginning.

He is familiar with the psychological impact of grief, knows about seeing the deceased on the street or in one’s living room. But Sam hasn't lost his brother, not in the traditional sense. Dean is still very much alive, at least Sam assumes so. They haven’t spoken in all the months Sam has been at Stanford.

And god, he misses him. So much so that occasionally Sam will catch a whiff of leather and old spice. Or he thinks he can hear the Impala roll up in the middle of the night, so accustomed to the sound that the imagination of it is enough to wake him.

“Hey, Sam.” Jeremy nudges him.

He’s a sloppy drunk and Sam’s sneakers take some spillage after all. Sam’s brows crinkle and he hopes his scowl is enough to convey his displeasure to his friend. Jeremy looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Some guy’s starin’ atchu.”

He’s pointing with his thumb, his aim somewhat off but Sam would have spotted the person he is referring to a mile off. So maybe he’s not crazy after all. Maybe the peek of leather jacket he thinks he saw was his big brother after all.

Or maybe – infinitely more likely – he has gone all the way insane.

But the apparition doesn’t disappear. Dean seems as solid as Sam remembers, looking as out of place as Sam feels in between the sloppily grinding bodies, the red cups, and the hoots of laughter.

“Hey, stranger,” the specter of his brother says and Sam is off his seat in an instant.

His friends fall silent beside him, watching him curiously, but Sam isn’t paying attention to anyone beside Dean, who is leaning against a table with deliberate ease, waiting for Sam’s reaction.

“What–” _are you doing here_ , he means to ask but then shakes his head. It’s not important and he doesn’t care.

He thinks he hears a collective gasp from behind him as he practically flies into his brother’s arms and but none of that matters, either. Dean gives a breathless laugh as he hugs Sam back, strong arms and warm body _right there_ , making Sam squeeze him tighter.

“Sammy,” Dean says, maybe as a greeting, or a warning, or a plea, but in any case it’s all he says and Sam withdraws a little. He grabs Dean’s face and kisses him for all he’s worth, swallowing the surprised sound right out of his mouth.

The way Dean’s fingers tangle in Sam’s hair after a moment’s hesitation reminds him of the night he left. The one time Dean was selfish, did something just for himself and dragged Sam around the corner by the bus station and planted one on him, leaving him confused and feeling bereft. It was sudden and wild but even then not entirely unexpected.

It’s something they had been heading toward for some time and maybe Dean grew tired of the back and forth or maybe he thought it was his last chance with Sam leaving and their father’s threat never to return or else hanging over him. They parted like that, with Dean pulling away and stalking back to the Impala, holding himself stiffly as if in pain. Sam barely had time to react, much less to say something.

It took a while for it all to sink in properly, for him to realize what he left behind, but who knows what would have been. It’s not like they would have been able to experiment much and figure it all out with John around. In all likelihood, it had been born from desperation, the last breath of a dying man, rather than a conscious decision to get Sam to stay.

Sam doesn’t think Dean meant it as blackmail but for a while there Sam felt like he failed to pay the ransom somewhere along the way. Maybe that’s why he never called and why Dean didn’t, either. Knowing his brother, he probably blamed himself for driving Sam away.

Sam vows to hold on tight from now on. He won’t let Dean leave again without so much as a word, an explanation, a promise. His thumbs are pressed against Dean’s cheekbones, the tips of his index fingers behind Dean’s ears, and Sam presses their foreheads together, panting slightly.

“Hi,” he says, idiotically, and Dean huffs a laugh. It sounds desperately relieved and something inside Sam unknots.

“Wanna introduce me to your friends?” Dean’s voice is low, honey-rough, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut against the crippling wave of _Oh god, how much I’ve missed you_.

He isn’t particularly happy to let go but after a moment he does. Dean’s eyes are focused on something behind him and Sam sighs, sure his little group is staring right at them. He turns slightly, gesturing to his brother, who still has one hand cupped around Sam’s elbow.

“This is my–” he begins automatically but then stops, watching the corner of Dean’s mouth curl in amusement. “Dean,” he finishes.

“Your Dean?” Kelly echoes, slightly unsteady on her feet and leaning into a confused-looking Jeremy.

Sam purses his lips, “Yeah,” and it’s as true as anything he’s ever known.


End file.
